


Tower of Learning

by destieldamnit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent Parents, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, BDSM, Dom!Cas, Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Supernatural AU, Sub!Dean, past underage prostitution, slow build romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destieldamnit/pseuds/destieldamnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries his best to leave his demons behind when he heads to college, but quickly discovers his past can't be so easily erased. Little does he know, the freedom he so desperately desires will be found in the ties that bind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reason for Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing on Ao3. If you feel I've mistakenly tagged or missed something, please kindly let me know.

Dean’s never been one to pay much attention during class. His elementary and high school years are mostly a blur of doodling erotic images on the edges of tests and hiding out in the bathroom with a cigarette pressed between his lips (or on the neck of the all-star quarterback, but that’s a story for another day). By some miracle, he’d managed to keep his shit together just enough to get him into the local university on a wrestling scholarship. That’s right— flannel-wearin’, classic-rock-lovin’, queer-as-the-day-is-long Dean Winchester is now a college man at the perky age of eighteen, thanks to slamming boys down on mats for the past six years.

He’d discovered college is, thankfully, a vast improvement from his prior history with education. The ability to follow his interests in most courses was a huge bonus, and the lack of concern from the professors made him excel rather than slack off. Dean found the pressure smothering from teachers that seemed to make it their business to breathe down his neck eight hours a day. In college? Most professors could care less if you even showed up, though there were exceptions, of course. Even Dean was shocked by his eagerness to attend his classes.

It was in Dean’s second semester however, when his zeal for attending his courses shot up exponentially— well, his zest for one class in particular, that is.

 

* * *

 

  
“Sonofabitch!” Dean grumbled at the blank face of his alarm clock. During his fitful night of unrest, Dean must’ve ripped the cord to his alarm clock out of the wall. He frantically searched for his cell phone, still in yesterday’s jeans left in a heap on his dorm room floor. Through bleary eyes, Dean could just make out that the time read 9:18 AM.

His heart exploded in his chest as he flung his legs out of the bed, nearly breaking his neck when his feet tangled in the covers. His class started at 9:45 AM and being was late was not the impression Dean wanted to make on the first day of the semester. He knew it’d be all syllabus and boredom, but he’d made the mistake of skipping two of his first classes last semester and regretted it for several weeks in. Dean yanked on the jeans from the floor, threw on a black tank top, and the heather grey flannel hanging on the back of his desk chair. Not exactly the put together appearance “College Dean” would have aimed for, but that’s better than being late. He slipped on his boots, ran a dampened hand through his short, nutmeg blonde hair, and grabbed his text and notebook just in case the professor was feeling ambitious.

Dean wasn’t even sure which professor’s course he was going to this muggy August Tuesday, just the building and room number he’d scrawled on the notebook as he headed out the door. He was relieved but a little annoyed to arrive with ten minutes to spare. In fact, he was the fourth person to slide into his seat; his presence probably sufficiently annoying to the early comers as he was huffing like he’d just sprinted a marathon.

Dean looked to the front of the lecture hall as he tried to convince his lungs they were being overly dramatic. Neatly written in a soft, flowing cursive on the blackboard was “Professor Novak” in royal blue. “Woman,” Dean mused to himself, making his assumption from the pretty handwriting and color choice. He liked playing this game, eager to see if his prediction would be accurate or not, as he often was spot on. He waited and watched as the class began to fill up. He thumbed his textbook, tracing the title with his finger, “ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY”.

On a whim, and because the class just happened to be at 4:00PM, Dean had taken a Psych 101 course last semester and discovered an intense interest for the subject. Since he’d never planned on attending college, figuring he would just go work at his good friend Bobby’s junk yard after high school, Dean hadn’t yet declared a major. After discovering this hidden passion, Dean was leaning into a career in psychology. He hoped this semester would help him make the big decision.

At precisely 9:45AM on the dot, Professor Novak calmly walked into the lecture hall with a high-end travel mug and a rich chocolate brown messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Dean watched carefully as the man, so sharply dressed Dean thought he may have just walked off a runway, took off his heather grey, wool overcoat that was a stunning modern take on the traditional pea coat. Beneath it was a burgundy scarf that Dean was positive had the same name as a fancy wine. It hung down long and clean over a pale blue button down that had a subtle dotted pattern. It was tucked into charcoal jeans that were somewhere between skinny and straight cut with a pressed crease in the front. Dean wondered if they weren’t specially tailored to hang low on his hips and cling just right to those athletic, runner’s thighs. To finish off his remarkable ensemble were black loafers with a slim square toe and a thin belt around his slim waist. Dean was so swept up in the man's appearance that he'd forgotten his flawed prediction.

Professor Novak had an effortless air of authority or perhaps, Dean reconsidered, more accurately a commanding presence. The kind of person who the whole room would take notice of when he entered (and the class certainly had). The professor seemed to be disinterested in his ability to garner attention, a quiet humility not often seen in one so stunning as him. Dean was all but fainting on the floor, however he didn’t appear to be alone in that seeing as he was in a room full of numerous young women clearly having similar thoughts.

Dean had been studying his new professor so closely that he’d almost entirely missed his face. He quickly realized it was just as striking as the man’s outfit, if not more. Professor Castiel Novak, as he’d just announced, had warm brown hair that was a bit tousled but swept back and away from his face. He had a rugged, strong face with a five o’clock shadow that perfectly accentuated his lick-worthy jawline. A straight, sloped nose sat above a pair of the fullest, pinkest lips he’d ever seen on a man (possibly second only to Dean himself, he supposed). He had on glasses that had thick, stylish black frames, but they couldn’t hide the eyes behind them.

Even from his seat in the middle of the hall, Dean could see those eyes. They weren’t the piercing, icy hue of some blue eyes, nor were they mixed with other colors to become some hard to define shade. They were blue. Dean didn’t want to try to wax poetic, but they were everything blue he’d ever loved all in a look. They were the sky he threw ball with Bobby under, the ocean he coaxed his little brother, Sammy, to swim in till his fear turned to delight, and the dress his mother wore in one of his last and fondest memories of her. Even his favorite pair of jeans seemed wrapped around that jet black pupil and nestled under those long lashes.

The class had all but fallen into a sink hole around him and Professor Novak. Until it dawned on him those blue, blue eyes were looking right at him and something that sounded vaguely familiar was coming out of those crinkled rose petal lips.

“Dean?” Professor Novak called. That beautiful face looked mildly concerned.

Shit. How many times had he said his name? They have our pictures on the roster, he knows which student I am. Oh, god, am I supposed to do an introduction? Just say “here”? Dean went for that.  
“H-here.” Dean cursed his stumbling tongue.

“Thank you.” Professor Novak smiled, nodded slightly, and went back to his attendance list.

By the end of the class, Dean had taken down the necessary notes and followed along with the reading of the syllabus, but he was also semi-hard and completely smitten. He sprinted back to his dorm, grateful he didn’t have another class till one that afternoon. With his back pressed against his door, he dropped his books where he stood and ran his hands up and down his thighs, breathing heavily from more than just his jaunt back to his room. His mind was flooded with so many fantasies and scenarios starring one Professor Novak that at first he couldn’t even pick which to jack off to.

As images flickered behind his eyelids, they returned to the cliché of being fucked on that ornate, solid walnut Gothic Revival desk. His mind settled there (hey, it’s a cliché for a reason!), Professor Novak’s lecture notes and student papers scattered from the desk to the floor; the ink pressing into Dean’s bare skin as his Professor opened him with slick, scissoring fingers. Dean’s hand wrapped around his cock, no longer able to control the lust searing through his veins. He made a tight fist and thrust his hips forward, imagining the tip of the Professor’s cock pressing into him and the buck of his hips so Dean was given every inch. Dean was so turned on after two hours of lecture and endless fantasies that it took only minutes to orgasm, his release slipping through his fingers and onto the floor between his legs. He was somewhat disappointed he hadn’t lasted longer to linger in the imaginary, but at least he’d be able to focus in his next class.

Dean cleaned up the floor and finally got the shower he’d meant to take in the morning. He tried to focus on the semester, his essays and projects, giving Sammy a call, and anything he could to keep his mind away from that well-dressed, mysterious man. Dean kept those meanderings at bay, so long as his thoughts never returned to those soulful blue eyes. Soulful. Yes, he decided, that was what he couldn’t quite fathom earlier. Vibrant portals to something wholly untouchable; a vision that knows you even when you feel hidden. 

Those eyes were the reason for blue.


	2. One Jagged Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's past comes back to haunt him as he contemplates getting closer to Professor Novak.

Dean thumbed through his Ab Psych syllabus for what seemed like the hundredth time in the two days since his first class with Professor Novak. A steady autumn rain tapped on the window as he stared at the words “Teacher’s Assistant”, highlighted in neon green.

He wanted so badly to apply. The self-doubt in his ability to juggle being a TA and a full-time schedule wasn’t the only reason he was hesitant to get involved. Dean knew this would only get him closer to the professor he already couldn’t get off his mind. Which is exactly what Dean wanted and precisely what he was so terrified of. This thick desire and his overwhelming fear broke loose memories that had for a long time only the company of skeletons until today. Dean’s new persona dimmed, shrinking back from his existence as his past came to call.

Dean had to pull from the depths the memory of the last person he’d had feelings for. Benny. Yes, that was the first and last boy he’d liked, Dean supposed. Benny was his first proper crush with butterflies and sweaty palms and songs devoted just to him.  Dean was around twelve when they’d met, the torrential hormones of puberty just beginning to build. Benny had moved in down the street from Dean and their paths intertwined one fateful summer day during a sudden downpour. He was a whole year older and couldn’t have seemed cooler to Dean if he’d come riding up into his front lawn on a motorcycle, clad in leather head-to-toe. The attraction between the two boys was instantaneous. Theirs was a simple love that bloomed rather than burned.

On the day of their first encounter, Benny was taking his cherry red bike for an afternoon ride when the rain hit. Dean, home alone while Sammy slept over at a friend’s house, was swinging on the porch trying to read some book whose title he couldn’t recall. He spotted Benny out in the rain, walking his bike in the middle of the pavement and called the drenched boy up to the porch. Dean shared his swing and a bottle of Coca Cola with him till the fallen rain had all but dried up in the persistent summer heat.

As night began to creep around the corners of the porch, Dean knew his dad would be home soon. He’d come with whiskey and rage on his breath if he was arriving at all, and Dean wanted to be as far away from that as he could. Dean escaped to Benny’s house that night. Rarely were the two apart for the rest of Dean’s time in Missouri. Dean smiled fondly when he recalled that that sticky summer night was also the eve of his first kiss, so uncertain and electric between sheets with galaxies on them. Benny loved the stars, he remembered fondly.

Dean’s smile quickly faded as the memory slid into the day Dean and Benny had to say goodbye. Dean’s dad was moving him and Sammy for the fourth time in two years. Dean was heartbroken over his lost love, a pain he had to suffer in silence. He had become numb to intimacy after Benny, though not because of him. That sweet summer love was the last tenderness he’d tasted, and its sweetness had long ago turned to ash in his mouth.

It was after his time with Benny that Dean's life was shredded and untethered once again. Dean’s father had been obsessed with finding his mother’s killer since he was four years old, but his vendetta had morphed into a booze-soaked, festering wound of spite and hate with no real direction anymore. Dean saw less and less of his father with each passing year. His responsibilities snowballed with each extended absence— taking care of Sammy, keeping his grades up, doing the housework, maintaining his spot on the wrestling team. Eventually his dad’s presence in their lives whittled down to a few days a month, an unannounced guest appearance here and there. The wads of cash left on Dean’s nightstand became smaller as his dad’s addiction grew at a rate far faster than his now secondary habit of seeking justice.

Dean was fifteen the first time he had sex for money. As he got ready for his first “transaction”, he told himself it wasn’t a big deal. A quick, easy way to make all the cash he needed to buy Sammy three square meals a day for a whole week. It wasn’t until after, when he laid in his bed and sobbed into his pillow, that the black tar of regret coated his lungs and his guts. As the years went by, the muffled cries became fainter and eventually stopped coming at all. The johns bled into one jagged edge that left their mark on his life and sometimes, _too many times_ , on his body too. Selling his body became commonplace for Dean; it was his new way of life. Another secret for him to coil up tight inside. He knew he did what he had to, and he’d do it a thousand more times to clothe and feed and care for his little brother. Nonetheless, the darkness that came to him that first night was a constant passenger he couldn’t break free from.

A crack of thunder outside his dorm window snapped Dean out of the past like a rubber band breaking. He was still sitting in the same position, eyes cast down upon the syllabus. He saw the wet splotches on the paper and the distorted words on the page, before he felt the tears on his face and realized he’d been crying. Dean was used up and broken— a knotted mass of scar tissue and worthlessness crying alone in his bed. He felt fifteen again. How could someone as distinguished and pristine as Professor Novak ever want a mess like Dean around? He hurled the syllabus across the room in a rush of anger that squeezed and singed his lungs.

He decided not to apply. 


	3. Open Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's first intriguing essay for Professor Novak yields a surprising turn of events.

To start off the class, Professor Novak had assigned an open essay. One thousand words on anything the student desired within the realm of abnormal psychology, due the day of their second meeting. Professor Novak didn’t say as much, but it was clear to Dean that this was his way of feeling out the students quickly.

Dean found he enjoyed writing essays more than his peers seemed to, but the “choose your topic” kind were his curse. Dean’s mind was flooded with hundreds of possibilities that intrigued him. It took him at least half the time he had to complete the essay to even select his subject for this kind of assignment. With a burning desire to please Professor Novak, making a decision this time was proving particularly challenging.

“Sammy, I don’t know what to do it on.” Dean was definitely whining into the phone to his little brother.

“Are you more interested in cognitive or medical or something?” Sam inquired casually, trying to help Dean narrow down his choices. Dean’s chest swelled with pride at his little bro’s brilliance. Dean knew Sammy had probably started studying psychology before it even crossed his own radar as a career.

“Cognitive, I think. There are so many topics for the behavioral approach though. Ugh.” He groaned at his indecision.

“Whatever you pick will be awesome, man. Go with your gut. Remember how you taught me to list my first three ideas? Try that. I gotta go work on some algebra. Call me tomorrow?” There was a slight edge of a quiet fear in the question, even after Dean being on campus for several months before.

“Of course, Bitch.” Dean filled those three words with as much promise and assurance as he possibly could.

“Okay, Jerk.” The line went dead, but Dean heard the smile on his little brother’s face that wrapped around his nickname just before the click.

Dean pulled out his pen and psych notebook and scrawled out a numbered list, taking the advice he’d given Sammy on a similar assignment long ago. He made notes beside the topics to help narrow down his best choice.

  1. ~~Serial killer~~  too typical, even more choices
  2. Sexual deviance
  3. ~~Depression~~ common, really broad topic



Sexual deviance it is, he concluded. A thrill skittered up his spine at the idea of handing in a provocative paper to Professor Novak. Would he grade it at that gorgeous desk of his? Or perhaps at home in bed, leafing through the pages Dean wrote just for him? Dean’s breath caught in his chest and he had to physically shake his head to clear his mind. Sexual deviance, indeed. Dean cracked his knuckles and got to work.

  

* * *

 

 

Dean was first in class that third Tuesday of the semester. He knew the class would be getting their essays back from last week and he could barely sleep knowing the Professor had seen his writing. Dean decided to focus on sadism and masochism in his essay. Since it was early in the course and a short essay, he lightly discussed the complexities of when and how these preferences may become unhealthy and what the standards of a clinical diagnosis are. He often felt concerned about his own predilections, so he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a whole lot of Dean in what he’d decided to write about. He felt a little chicken shit for ending it with some middle of the road line. It made so little impression he couldn’t even quite recall what it was. He sighed and gnawed on his lip over it as the class filled up. Not much he can do about it now, he supposed.

Professor Novak arrived as stylishly and punctually as he had each morning before. The wool coat, messenger bag, and travel mug had returned again, but the rest of his ensemble was fresh for Dean’s eyes to take in. The professor was sporting a thin knit, icy silver sweater with a deep grey trim along the short V-neck. Beneath it was the tucked collar of a shadow blue button down and a satin tie in the same hue as the shirt. His pants were jet black and relaxed, bordering on baggy but still clearly well-fitted to his form. No scarf or accessories today, except for a subtle platinum watch peeking out from under the cuff of his shirt when he moved his arm a certain way.

Dean sighed out loud in appreciation, forgetting yet again that this was a class of roughly thirty and as such he was not alone. A bright red pixie cut swirled around in front of him to his left and gave him a wink. Dean knew his face had to be about the same shade as her hair.

“I’m Charlie!” she whispered brightly.

“Dean,” he smiled back.

After attendance, Dean’s long anticipated moment was quickly arriving. Professor Novak held their essays in his arms and passed them out one by one. It felt agonizingly slow to Dean. His leg thumped anxiously against the arm rest of his seat as he watched the professor leisurely make his way around the room. Before he could rattle the chair apart, his essay was slid on top of the small desk. He immediately took in the green permanent marker scrawled across the front, “See me after class.”

Dean’s heart pounded so hard in his chest he couldn’t hear anything but the banging in his ears. He tried desperately to cling to some semblance of a cool exterior as he thumbed to the back of the essay where the grade is usually tucked away. A simple “98%” was written in the same emerald ink. Dean was now even more confused than before. He thought for sure he’d failed miserably and was in trouble (and not the fun kind of trouble, mind you). There were a few small notes made by the professor throughout the essay, but no indication of why he’d need to speak with Dean.

Dean didn’t hear a single thing that was said the rest of the lecture. He tried to take down some notes, but it was useless. His mouth felt like he’d been licking pebbles for the past hour and his heart showed no sign of slowing down. Did he do something wrong? Could he have actually done something _right_? He could hardly fathom the second option, even with the grade A essay he’d just written.

Finally, the lecture was winding down. He knew this because people were shuffling their notes and texts and laptops so they could flee the moment Professor N (as they called him) said the parting words. Charlie was among the shufflers. He leaned in her direction and asked if he could borrow her notes. She was happy to help him out, she said. They exchanged numbers so he could return her papers the following day.

Dean wondered if he hadn’t just started an actual friendship. He had no reason to really think so, but it was more active socializing than he’d done since arriving at the university. He felt a quick connection with her, whatever it was. Luckily this brief interaction helped calm him a bit, until he realized he was now alone with Professor Novak and he was going to have to speak. _Speak actual words_. He was going to have to talk to this astounding man he’d been fantasizing about for three weeks.

“Dean? Can you come down here, please?” Professor Novak’s low voice reached out to him from the front of his classroom. Dean gathered up his stuff and walked down to the gorgeous desk he wouldn’t mind crawling under right now.

“I loved your paper.” It was only the second time he’d look Dean straight in the eyes, and Dean felt it all the way to his bones and into the parts people write colorful books to teach kids about. So much so that he didn’t even register the glowing compliment until a few seconds later.

“Thank you.” He spoke far softer than he intended. He realized he was clinging to his books like they were a life preserver pressed against his chest, but he managed to say real words that could be heard by human ears so for that he’d count it as a win.

“I want you to be my TA. I know you didn’t apply, something we’ll have to keep between us if you accept, but your essay… You show the most promise, Dean.” Dean was pretty sure his face melted off somewhere between “I want you” and “between us” but if it hadn’t, it most certainly did by the end of the sentence.

“If I say I accept right now, is that too eager?” He practically giggled the words. _What the hell, man, keep it together_.

Professor Novak laughed. “No shame in being eager, Dean.”

Dean made note of him saying his name again. He tried to write it off as etiquette or simply the professor trying to remember him at all, but his mind was already reveling in the sound of his name on that tongue and slipping across those phenomenal lips. Dean swore there was a hint of something more in those true blue eyes when he said those four letters. He was probably imagining things, but he liked the image.

“I have the finalization form here. Take it and fill it out and drop it in my inbox when you’ve finished.” Again those eyes, that pretty pearl smile.

Dean took the paper and thanked him. He may or may not have ran into a desk while trying to exit backwards out of the class to keep looking at the professor a little longer.

Dean walked his massive grin and another post-lecture erection back to his dorm room. He finished himself and the form in record time in that order. His formal acceptance of the position of teacher’s assistant was in Professor Novak’s inbox before the end of office hours that day. Now that the door had been opened, Dean wanted his professor to know just how eager he truly was to be his number one student.


	4. Charlie

Dean woke the morning after turning in the TA form to a text from the professor. He peered outside before reading the message and saw a heavy haze of morning dew hanging in the air. His phone informed him it was 8:33AM Wednesday, September 4th. No classes today he remembered, relieved. Taking a deep, sleepy breath he opened the text.

“Good morning, Dean. Meet me in my classroom at 4PM today, if available. See you soon.”

The text was sent at 6:18 this morning. Dean’s brain felt like it was a 4th of July celebration with all the thoughts it was trying to fire off at once.

 _What was he doing at 6 in the morning when he thought to text me?_  
Oh god, I haven’t replied in over two hours.  
He’ll think I’m lazy. Or too busy to respond? No, too lazy.  
What is his morning routine like?  
Does he have a routine?  
How can I possibly make it till 4PM to see him?

Dean sucked a cool breath between his teeth and his tongue. Professor Novak’s eyes sliced through his thoughts. Dean’s mind settled into that gaze like stray leaves fluttering to the pavement on a breezy day. Calm, like a meditation that transported him somewhere perfect or maybe just kept him steady and present— he wasn’t quite sure.

He stretched and picked his phone back up. Dean pulled up Charlie’s number.

“Coffee 4 notes @ 12?”

Dean didn’t usually type in slang but he was tired and preoccupied. The response came quickly.

“Great!”

Dean was pleased she didn't take long to get back to him, he hoped it was a reflection of her excitement to get to see him. Dean hadn’t responded to Professor Novak’s message yet. He had shown so much interest yesterday… Dean decided against replying. He wanted his professor to wonder if he’d show up for their appointment. He knew if he confirmed, Professor would not think of him again until just before their meeting. Dean may not have had romantic involvement since he was a tween, but he still knew how to attract and seduce (he hoped he knew, anyway). He also knew being alluring would be a lot less successful once he was in the professor’s physical presence again, so he better be coy while he was capable of being so.

After a long shower, Dean reviewed his assignments and worked on some exceedingly frustrating calculus. He was tempted but ultimately too prideful to call Sammy for help. His high school teachers knew Dean was capable, but he missed a lot of the foundation his peers were building in class. Dean assumed he was too stupid, because that was easier than admitting his home life was more smoking rubble than picket fences. Dean still felt too stupid. He shut the book and checked his watch. 11:45 AM.

Dean grabbed his maroon hoodie and slipped his phone and wallet in his jeans pockets. He tucked the folder he’d kept Charlie’s notes in under his arm as he went out the door. The heat of August had given way to a brisk September almost entirely overnight. He was pretty sure the summer heat wasn’t done with them yet, but autumn was seeping into the edges of the scene.

The on-campus coffee shop was only a few hundred feet from Dean’s dorm, a luxury he had grown to love in the spring and missed deeply during summer break back home. It wasn’t just the jolt of caffeine he enjoyed, but rather the whole experience; the hushed conversations over steaming mugs, the fragrance of coffee and tea making the open space feel warmer and closer, the diverse assortments of beans and people and places to sit. It was in his favorite cozy corner where his ginger friend awaited him when he arrived at the cafe.

Dean waved to Charlie and she raised her mug in a salute from the purple pinstriped arm chair. Dean ordered a large Italian roast, black with two sugars. Unlike most of the patrons he’d overheard, Dean liked to switch it up most days. There were so many drinks to try that he thought it a waste to get the same one, but the bold, rich Italian was his favorite so far. The swirling dark pool in his artsy yellow mug was worlds away from the discount food store sludge he drank in high school.

He plopped down on the burnt orange wingback unceremoniously and set his drink on the small round table between them. Charlie thanked him brightly as Dean handed back her notes.

“So, Professor Novak, huh?” she inquired, a bit devilishly.

Dean laughed and shook his head as calmly as possible. “He’s just cute, that’s all.”

Charlie laughed, “Oh, Dean, please. I may not swing on that branch but that man’s downright swoon-worthy.”

Dean placed the initial spark. Family. He winked at her as he took a sip of his coffee. Dean often wondered what that flicker of recognition is, how that understanding is ignited. What is that elusive _thing_? A mutual understanding? The power of a shared experience? The attraction of queer attraction?

Dean realized he hadn’t said a single syllable in a solid minute while he mused internally about the complexity of “gaydar”. It then occurred to him he also had no idea what to talk about. Charlie was peeking at him over the mossy green mug in her pale fingers. It looked fabulous next to her hair. He swore he used to be good at this whole mingling thing.

“I’m sorry, I’m out of it today. Must need more of this,” Dean lifted his mug, gesturing to the caffeinated contents.

“What are you going to school for?”

“I’m not sure yet. Thinking something with psychology but it’s only my second semester. You?”

“Comp Sci. Nerding it up with the best of ‘em.” She said it with some mix of pride and awkwardness, like she wasn’t supposed to be smart but wouldn’t know how to be anything else even if she wanted. Like her favorite sweater that someone called ugly once so she remembers it every time she puts it on. Dean hoped the discomfort would fade someday. There’s no reason for her to be anyone else, he thought.

Dean noticed her Star Wars shirt and she noticed him looking. “You know, I’ve only see parts of all the movies.”

The look on Charlie’s face could’ve reached out and slapped him. “Saturday and Sunday. Star Wars marathon. No excuses.”

Dean laughed, unable to hide his excitement at having plans under the cool exterior he tried to maintain. “I’ll bring the popcorn.”

“Shit. I gotta get to my class. Sorry to rush off, but Saturday, don’t forget.” She gave him a serious look and grabbed her stuff.

“I won’t forget.”

“You’re going to tell me more about Professor N, too.” With that she was out the door.

Dean was annoyed at his watch for telling him it was only 12:30. He had hoped his meeting with Charlie was going to eat up more of his time. Now he had to find something to do for another three and a half hours.

He started to walk back to his dorm but decided to stop off at the bookstore to see if they had popcorn. Dean grabbed the last three pack of movie theater butter popcorn and wished he didn’t have to wait till Saturday to hang out Charlie. He toyed with the idea of dropping in on Professor Novak unannounced, but figured that was a rude, if not creepy, idea. He’d have to settle for going back to his dorm and twiddling his thumbs for the rest of the day.

Instead of playing with his thumbs, Dean found himself under his blankets with his hand on his cock and his laptop propped beside him. It took him over twenty minutes just to find some porn that interested him and even now the two men fucking on his screen only had him slightly hard. He slammed shut his laptop, sweaty and frustrated. He saw those eyes again. Just a flicker, a blink, but that was all it took to bring him down. Dean’s damp palm and fingers wrapped around his dick again. He was surprised to feel it filling readily under his flesh. “Professor,” he whispered, the word jolting straight through him like lightning.

Dean saw himself sitting at his desk this time. Professor Novak stood before him in those snug pants he wore the first day Dean laid eyes on him. Dean imagined the bulge growing beneath the fabric and his mouth began to water. The professor looked down at Dean through those black framed glasses, almost daringly but with a taunting disapproval woven into his stare.

“Please,” Dean muttered in his bed and fantasy.

“What do you want, Dean?”

“I want to taste it,” he begged.

“Taste what?” He was more demanding now. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want to taste your cock.”

His imagination seemed to take control of the scenario, filling his mind with instinctual pleasures and textures. Dean’s stroking became so rapid he felt possessed by his lust. Just that tiny fantasy was enough to do for Dean what 15 porn videos couldn’t come close to. He threw his blankets back as he came suddenly onto his stomach in thick, hot ropes, his chest aching and heaving. “Fuck,” he sighed, shocked by the intensity of his climax.

He hoped the orgasm would help get him through his meeting, but somehow he doubted it.


	5. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's meeting with Professor Novak finally arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter compared to the previous ones, clocking in at 3,100+ words.

After his intense masturbation session, Dean’s body felt warm and wrung out. He decided to shower before going to meet his professor. Even on pain of death, he wouldn’t admit he spent the entire time in the bathroom trying to figure out what to wear. He decided on a bright green polo he’d bought for interviews and dressier occasions. It was one of the only nice shirts he owned, but it complimented all those pretty freckles and matched his eyes as closely as any fabric ever could. A dark washed jean that only had one or two small holes and, miraculously, no grease smudges were pulled over dark gray boxer briefs. His underwear had a thick red elastic band that read “BOY TOY” in large block letters. He laughed to himself every time he put them on. A private secret no one but Dean knew about; though he had _plenty_ of fantasies about Professor Novak getting to see them.

He slipped the amulet Sammy had bought him for Christmas when they were kids over his head and tucked it inside the collar of his polo. He slid into his favorite brown leather jacket and grabbed his text and notebook. Dean had no idea what to expect of this meeting, but he didn’t want to appear unprepared.

Dean felt surprisingly calm as he made the short walk to the classroom. He felt a buzzing, a pulsating hum just under the surface of his skin, but it was more pleasant than anxious. As he entered the building, he glanced at his watch. He was stunned to see it was only 3:45PM. Despite all his “activities”, grooming, and wardrobe changes, he was still 15 minutes early. Dean by no means wanted to be late, but this gave him 15 minutes to over think and analyze and _panic_. In the space between the front door and first staircase, it occurred to Dean that his brilliant plan of not responding to the text this morning may have sent the wrong message entirely. What if Professor Novak didn’t think he was coming at all so he made other plans? Or worse, what if Dean had upset him by not replying? The pleasant vibration he had been feeling became a high pitch whine in his ears. _Yep_ , Dean thought as his freak out ensued, _this is exactly what I wanted to avoid_.

Thankfully, his panic was stalled as he reached the top of the stairs and saw Professor Novak walking back into his classroom. He was holding a Styrofoam cup, and Dean took that as a sign that he expected to be at the school for awhile yet. He took a long, heavy breath and crossed the threshold into the classroom.

The room felt different to Dean this afternoon. Being there outside of his scheduled class time, alone with Professor Novak, the school far more empty than Dean was used to all added up to a shift in the atmosphere of the historical building. Most of the lights were out in the lecture room and the clouded sky let in little light through the massive windows. Dean stood just inside the doorway, unmoving and unaware that he was adoringly admiring the professor in the soft, gray light. Professor Novak was shuffling papers and scribbling little notes. When he would pause, he’d press the blue pen to his lips and tap them slightly. Dean smiled inwardly at the suggestion of an oral fixation.

Professor Novak must’ve sensed eyes upon him because he suddenly stopped and looked up to find Dean still hovering in the door.

“Hello, Dean.” He sounded pleased to see him. Dean was so relieved he hadn’t disappointed the professor that he felt he might float up to the copper ceiling like a helium balloon.

“You… You looked like you were busy and I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m early.”

“Ah, yes. So you are. I lost track of time grading papers.” He was all smiles. Dean would’ve sworn Professor Novak was checking him out, but Dean dismissed it as wishful thinking. “Come on down and we’ll get started.”

Dean made his way to the front of the room but just as he placed his books on the corner of the desk, Professor Novak looked up and said, “You know what? What would you think of heading to the diner out on the highway?”

Dean was taken aback by the suggestion. Surely he wasn’t trying to get in Dean’s pants already… Right?

“I’m sorry. If you’d rather stay here,” the Professor tried backtracking, “I have no problem with that. I’m just starving and hate the coffee here.” He tipped his pen at the Styrofoam cup he’d barely sipped out of.

“No, no. That sounds great! I can always go for some diner grub. I’ve never eaten there.” Dean couldn’t hide his excitement, and he didn’t want to. He was also genuinely hungry. There was only so much microwaved Ramen a person could handle before they just gave up on the poor college student diet.

Dean waited quietly while Professor Novak packed up some papers and pulled out his keys. Dean was really curious to see what kind of car the impeccable Professor Novak drove. He was betting a Mercedes or Lexus sedan based on his wardrobe and style. When Dean followed his professor out to faculty parking, he damn near fainted at the transportation Professor Novak had in his possession.

There, in a small reserved section of the lot, leaned a motorcycle so smooth and breathtaking Dean didn’t know whether he should ride it or build an altar to it and offer up a blood sacrifice in its honor. He recognized the unique characteristics that defined the 1953 Indian Chief motorcycle immediately. This was the crowning jewel of the Indian legacy, the last great bike of the legendary American company. Dean could feel his mouth hanging open unattractively but there was little he could do about it. Professor Novak’s bike was a shining jet black with pristine chrome accents. It was simple and tasteful, but it was undoubtedly a rolling work of 1950s classic art.

Dean had no idea how much time had passed while he was drooling over the bike, but he was brought back to reality when a helmet came sailing through the air in his direction. His reflexes snatched the helmet out of the air, but his breath was completely knocked out of him as he watched those thick, muscular thighs swing over and wrap around the body of the bike. Dean was in no way in control of his body any longer, but luckily some subconscious drive to preserve a shred of his dignity convinced his limbs to put on the helmet and walk to where the professor was waiting for him. Dean hefted his leg over the bike and tried to position himself in a way that wasn’t overtly sexual, but realized that was a ridiculous impossibility on the rather small seat.

Professor Novak started and revved the engine a few times before turning his head to the side and telling Dean to hang on. From the moment he realized Professor Novak drove a motorcycle up until this very second, Dean’s head had felt like it’d detached from his body and was floating in crowded waters. None of it felt real and he was almost certain he was still in his bed, under the covers, jacking off to this wildly arousing fantasy. When Dean wrapped his arms around that strong torso and pressed his chest to Professor Novak’s back, however, he was pulled from the surreal chaos. He was now so present in every single second of what was happening that it made his chest swell and ache with delight. Professor Novak rolled the bike back and Dean gripped his sides when they lunged forward to exit the parking lot.

Dean had been on a motorcycle before, but there would never be a motorcycle in the history of human existence that could make Dean feel the way he felt on the back of that bike in that moment. Despite the strong wind on his face, Dean could still smell Professor Novak’s cologne and aftershave, and the helmet smelled of his shampoo. His scent was so intoxicating that Dean had to stop himself from burying his face in the crook of the professor’s neck. He smelled of leather and sandalwood and the spicy scent of fallen autumn leaves. It was an effortless fragrance, just like the rest of Professor Novak.

The ride to the diner felt suspended in time. Dean supposed it was quite brisk now that the sun was making its departure from the already chilly day, but the heat of the body he was pressed against and the purring bike beneath him surrounded Dean in a blanket of warmth. He felt a pang of regret as the lights of the diner swung into view around a short bend in the highway, but it was quickly accompanied by a growl in his stomach that rivaled the roar of the engine.

Professor Novak pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the diner. Dean climbed off and he felt the cold on his thighs and torso where the heat used to be, like an invisible imprint of the professor’s body lingering on his skin. He admired the way Professor Novak went through his dismount ritual, removing his helmet and locking everything up with the ease of having done it a million times before. Everything he did was so steady and unfaltering.

Professor Novak led the way into the shiny retro diner. The booths and stools were a funky teal hue and there was enough chrome to manufacture six hundred motorcycles. A checkered floor and vintage tin signs added to the time travel trip. If that wasn’t enough, the jukebox and milkshake machine were clearly genuine articles from the 1950s. Professor Novak picked a booth in the far left corner and Dean slid in across from him. Despite the exhilarating bike ride, there was still a surreal glow around the entire experience. _Am I really here with him now?_ was all that kept running through Dean’s mind.

Neither of them had said a word since before leaving the college. The silence felt comfortable until Dean became aware of it.

“What’s good here?” Dean asked, pulling the menus from the condiment holder.

“Everything. Their waffles and burgers are my favorite. And the milkshakes, of course.” Professor Novak looked serious despite the light conversation. Dean felt a sudden drop in his stomach, the worry that he’d done something wrong already pressing down on his guts.

He wasn’t sure how to reply. “I love all of those things,” Dean tried his best to sound casual but it felt like he was reaching anyway.

A pretty young waitress with auburn hair, porcelain skin, and the biggest brown eyes Dean had ever seen bounced over in a coral cardigan and jeans. She had a small yellow notepad and pen in her hand and a crisp white apron slung around her slim waist.

“What can I get for ya, Cas?” She was like the embodiment of a bubbling brook. Hearing his first name, a pet name at that, took Dean aback. He couldn’t imagine the very serious Professor Novak going for a nickname. Dean wondered what other surprises were hidden under that slick, polished exterior. His mind went down one of his rabbit trails as he imagined a geode that was sliced open to reveal breathtaking, sparkling crystalline structures under it’s buffed surface.

While Dean was having a geological epiphany, Professor Novak was placing his order. “The usual, Anna. Can I get a strawberry milkshake tonight too, please.”

“Sure thing!” Anna replied.

“Thank you, Anna.” Professor Novak replied with a smile. Dean always felt better when he saw him smile.

“And what can I get for you, hon?”

“Um, I’ll have whatever he’s having. But chocolate instead of strawberry, please.”

“Coming right up!” She bounced away, leaving Dean to try to figure out what to do now.

Dean leaned back and drilled his brain for some interesting topic. He wanted so badly to impress Professor Novak, and it had little to do with his GPA or future in psychiatry. He wanted to do well as a student and professional, of course, but there was something altogether different here he couldn’t dismiss.

“Talk to me about your essay.”

Dean felt whatever blood wasn’t continuously in his cock when around Professor Novak run directly to his cheeks.

“Well, what do you want to know about it?” Dean shot back playfully. This _was_ why he’d written it, after all.

“Why you chose the topic, I suppose.” Professor Novak’s eyes betrayed a subtle acknowledgment. It was clear he was asking questions he already knew the answer to. He wanted to hear Dean say it.

Dean contemplated for a moment. With this being their first serious interaction, he wasn’t sure how he wanted to approach his professor. The way Dean felt was electric and there was no chance he could ignore it. And despite the numerous obvious obstacles to a relationship of any kind at all, he didn’t want to ignore it.

“I’m into bondage.” It was the first confident thing Dean had said in any of their interactions. Those three words were the first time he wasn’t trying to be someone else to impress. Though his history was soiled and jaded, Dean adored sex not only for it’s physical pleasures but also the impact it has on every human at some point in their life- even if they never _do it_ , it’s still a part of life. He wanted more positive experiences in his life when it came to sexuality.

Professor Novak smiled and a flush came to his cheeks that made Dean’s heart swell, but he never looked away from Dean’s eyes. Dean was dying to know what was going on in that beautiful mind. Their silence had to be prolonged as Anna returned with their food, which smelled as delicious as it looked. Both men thanked her, and she headed into the kitchen. Dean was relieved to have their privacy again because he wanted this conversation to continue at all costs.

The ball was in Professor Novak’s court. Dean sensed he wouldn’t back down, but didn’t dare hope for it.

“Academically, regardless of topic, your essay was brilliant,” The professional tone made Dean’s heart shrivel even though it was a compliment, but then the professor continued, “but I’d be lying if I said the subject you chose didn’t interest me on a personal level.” Those blue eyes Dean loved so much were now electric, as though a switch had been flipped on behind them; they damn near glowed behind his eye wear. An understanding between the pair was struck like flint sparking against rock. _This is really happening_ , Dean thought feverishly. He knew it was wrong to everyone else, but they weren’t here in this sleepy highway diner looking into the prettiest face he could ever imagine.

They chatted lightly throughout the rest of their dinner, though it never returned to their original topic. The conversation was so easy and Dean couldn’t remember the last time he felt so _himself_. There was feet lightly bumping under the table and soft laughter and fingers brushing accidentally. It was fresh and the world fell away around their table for two. And they both knew there was no turning back.

Dean argued about paying for himself, but Professor Novak wouldn’t hear it. He paid and left Anna a generous tip on the table. Dean followed the professor out the door and as the cold air hit him, so did the realization that he had no idea what was going to happen now. Should he make a move? Was Professor Novak going to make a move? He didn’t want to go home alone tonight if he could be with his professor ( _God, this is so wrong_ , he thought again). Before he had anymore time to consider, Professor Novak was straddling his bike and ready to go. Dean hopped on the bike and, unlike the first time, purposefully pressed his body fully against the soft jacket and the tight, warm body beneath it.

The wind was much colder now and it numbed his face and ears, but Dean could think of nothing else but what was going to happen next. As the dorm came into view, Dean felt tears stinging his eyes. He burrowed his face into Professor Novak’s back. He felt so silly and irrational, but the thought of being away from the professor was gutting him.

Professor Novak parked the motorcycle near some outbuildings, out of view of the academic buildings and dormitories so they’d remain unseen. Dean got off, defeated. He hated himself for it, but he began to storm off like a petulant child. Really, he just didn’t want to say goodbye. Dean hated goodbyes. Before he could get to far, a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around, nearly making him fall to the ground. The corner of a storage shed braced his back as Professor Novak's eyes swung into view before him.

“Dean… Dean, I know you know what’s happening here. You aren’t imagining things. But I want you to be sure and we can’t just jump into this.” His voice was sincere and this was as flustered as Dean had ever seen him, but Dean knew he wasn’t wrong and was grateful one of them had some self—control left. Well, almost.

Before Dean could move from the wall, he found the lips of his professor pressed against his neck. The moan he let out was much louder than he expected. Professor Novak continued kissing his flesh lower, down the artery of his throat where his pulse beat heavy, to the curve of his still summer tanned neck, and finally he pulled the collar of his shirt to the side. There, he stopped moving and began to lick and suck the delicate skin that stretched over Dean’s collar bone. Dean’s legs went completely numb, but Professor Novak caught him as he sucked harder, taking the skin lightly between his teeth. Dean cried out with the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain, his body mindlessly grinding against Professor Novak’s thigh that was helping to hold him up. Dean knew a pretty purple bruise was blooming under the power of that gorgeous mouth.

Professor Novak raised Dean’s hands above his head and pinned him tightly against the rough brick, staring darkly into his eyes as Dean panted and whimpered. The erotic tension they were both experiencing could have been tasted in the autumn night air. Dean tried to steal a kiss but the permission was not given, making Dean desire the taste of those lips even more.

Just before Professor Novak turns to go, he leans close, kisses the swollen bruise once more, and whispers hotly in Dean’s ear, “ _Now you’re mine_.”


	6. Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have not yet proofed this so I apologize if there are errors! Just wanted to get it up since it took me so long to update (also sorry for that!).

Three days passed without a word. The violet brand on his collar bone turned a sickly yellow, and Dean couldn’t help but identify with the beautiful thing turned ugly.

It was Saturday now. A September morning warmer than those of the past week. This was also the day he was to have his Star Wars marathon with Charlie. Dean was still excited to spend time with her, but he feared he’d be miserable company in the depressing wake of Professor Novak’s silence.

Dean was doubted this was a game at his expense, but it was certainly a puzzling outcome. He never expected for their attraction to be so magnetic nor for it to reach such a feverish climax during their very first secluded meeting. Even so, Professor Novak didn’t seem to be a person who would shy away from his desires, no matter how dangerous.

He huffed and yanked his covers off his chest, feeling stifled by more than the comforter. At least the blankets were something he could free himself from. He sent Charlie a message asking when and where she wanted to get together and hopped in the shower before her response. The shower helped soothe him as much as such things can when you’re being ignored by the most wonderful man one can imagine. Dean patted himself dry half-heartedly, wrapping the towel around his waist and flinging himself back onto the bed. His phone buzzed by his ear, alerting him to two new messages.

The first, from Charlie, read, “My room 223. 12ish?” Dean responded in agreement.

His breath caught at sight of the second text, “I think, too often, of you. - C.”

Dean felt the urge to cry with relief. His mind was overwhelmed with possible responses. Should he wait three days to respond as Profess— as Castiel had made him wait? Dean decided no, because he of course could have messaged him first but didn’t. He also knew his chances of holding out for even five more minutes without responding were slim. He pressed his phone to his chest and filled his mind with Cas’s eyes, a ritual he was turning to with growing frequency.

“And I, you. - D.” was his simple response. Dean smiled for what felt like the first time in days. He knew now he’d be able to fully enjoy his marathon with Charlie.

With Episode I and II complete, Dean could no longer handle the not-so-subtle glares and dropped hints to dish from the bean bag dweller across the room. It was obvious Charlie wasn’t going to give up and truthfully he was pretty eager to give in.

“Gave me this.” The confession was so much filthier than he intended, whispered husky and thick into the dimly lit dorm room with his collar pulled to the side between his two crooked fingers. Such little words and yet they lifted him right from that slouched futon to the brick wall where Professor Novak sank his teeth into his skin. Dean visibly shivered despite the toasty climate. Charlie’s mouth was frozen between a gasp and a grin, her eyes sparkling as the credits still scrolled across the TV screen. She knew not to bother asking for a full account, though she would’ve loved to hear it.

“So, are you going to see each other again?” Her tone was as casual as she could muster.

“I think so. Yes. I mean, I want to.” Dean stumbled over his words, still flushed and foggy from the vivid memory.

 

The duo munched on the popcorn Dean had bought and plowed through Revenge of the Sith and A New Hope before neither of them could sit still any longer. Dean suggested going to grab some more substantial food from the cafeteria before the kitchen closed. Dean was half way through a turkey club when his phone alerted him to a new message. He was nearly choked by the anxiety that flooded him and he stalled looking at the message. Charlie playfully kicked his shin and, with a mouth full of veggie wrap, said, “Read it!” Dean laughed and put his sandwich down and replaced it with his phone.

The message read only, “Come over?” but what was below it took Dean’s breath away. It was Professor Novak’s home address. Dean’s face must’ve betrayed his surprise because when he looked up, Charlie was grinning and nodding.

“You have to go!” Charlie was egging him on and enjoying the vicarious thrill.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bail on our plans.”

“Oh definitely. We can finish the movies any time. How often do you get invited over to Professor Sex God’s place?!”

 

Dean finished his dinner with Charlie slowly, in part because he felt bad about leaving her, but also because he needed the time to calm down so he didn’t weird out Professor N by showing up as an overly excited puppy. He ran back to his dorm to take a quick shower and by the time he was done, Dean was as calm as he possibly could be. He pulled on a deep red Henley over his damp skin and a pair of jeans that were actually washed recently. In the back of his closet was his worn, brown leather jacket. He slipped it on and it felt familiar and eased his nerves further. Dean pulled out his phone and realized the professor lived quite close to the campus, only a few blocks toward the highway where the diner sat. He was grateful for this since he neither wanted to ride his bike nor call a cab he couldn’t afford.

 

It seemed like Dean had floated to Castiel’s home, where he now stood. He was across the street staring in awe at the massive home before him. It was in the style of a New England Victorian and the house sprawled upwards and back, giving it an intimidating presence on the large piece of land it was nestled in. The brick walkway to the columned porch was long and well-manicured. The architecture seemed out of place for the Midwest, where the more common bungalows and Prairie style homes lined many of the older streets. There were large blue hydrangeas along the front of the partial wrap around deck. Enormous maple trees dotted the property, particularly evident by the abundance of golden orange leaves rustling around the yard. Dean could tell the home would have oddly shaped rooms and lots of woodwork inside, and he didn’t doubt it would be every bit as well-kept as the exterior and the man that inhabited the home.

Dean breathed in a crisp, autumn spiced lungful of air before crossing the street and walking up to the chocolate stained walnut door. He knocked and waited anxiously as he heard foot steps approach. The porch wasn’t well lit despite the pendant light hanging directly above him, and the flood of light and warmth that greeted him when the door was slowly opened made his head swim momentarily. There, standing before him in the doorway, was Castiel with a sparkling smile and as stunningly dressed as always. Dean felt under dressed even for the casual occasion of visiting his professor’s home. Dean felt his face flush and he couldn’t bring himself to look into Cas’s eyes.

Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him through the door, pressing his body against Dean’s suddenly, with Dean’s back pinned against the door before it had even closed. Castiel’s mouth found Dean’s instantly, and the hunger on his tongue was matched by Dean’s own insatiable desire. Neither man could will the kiss to end, their bodies grinding and thrusting into the other feverishly, but the need for oxygen simultaneously won out. They stood, face to face, breathing hard and heavy as their eyes remained locked. Dean felt like an animal who both wanted to pounce and be pounced upon. Castiel moved first, running his hand up Dean’s chest to his collar, where he pulled over the fabric of Dean’s shirt to reveal the hazy yellow mark he’d left the last they met.

“Hm,” he breathed darkly as he ran his thumb over the fading bruise, “been too long.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat and damn it if he didn’t whimper with want right there.

The sound triggered something in Castiel, his eyes igniting like two orbs of sapphire flame. He fisted his hand in the back of Dean’s hair and pulled his ear closer to his mouth.

“Will you be mine?” The thick, deep sound reverberated through Dean’s skull and fell through him, nearly taking out his knees in the process. Dean hissed, “Yesss…” in response, without a single doubt or hesitation in his mind or heart. Before the last ‘s’ had left his lips, he was on his knees and swiftly unzipping Castiel’s pants. He didn’t even bother to undo Castiel’s belt before reaching his hands into the opening of the tight black jeans. Castiel moaned from above as Dean’s rough, calloused hands found the stiffening flesh down Castiel’s leg and tugged it free from the denim. Dean was delighted to first discover Castiel didn’t have on any underwear, and secondly he was absolutely floored by the size of cock hidden so well in the famously snug pants of Professor Novak. Dean stroked Castiel once, pulling the remaining skin back to reveal the rosy pink head, which he greeted with a rough lick of his flattened tongue. Castiel moaned and grunted at the same time with the exhilarating sensation. The hand that wasn’t still knotted in Dean’s hair slammed into the closed door as he tried to steady himself. Dean took the momentary loss of balance to his advantage and opened his mouth wide, curling his lips around his teeth and sticking his tongue out slightly as he took Castiel into his throat in one swift motion. Castiel was so surprised by the tenacity with which Dean was devouring his cock that he instinctual thrust his hips forward, pinning Dean’s head to the door at the same time. Dean moaned around the organ filling his mouth, delighted by the control Castiel was manifesting once again.

Dean looked up at those blue eyes, simmering with lust and intensity, and Castiel growled down at him, “Mmm, yes, look at me.” Dean couldn’t exactly smile as he worked Castiel’s dick, but he knew Castiel could see the mischievous twinkle behind his eyes. Castiel ran his thumb across Dean’s cheek and down to his stretched jaw, a look of adoration flickering across his face before his need overtook all conscious thought. Dean pressed forward till his nose was pressing against the soft, short hairs and olive skin of Castiel’s stomach. Dean swallowed the gagging sensation rising in his throat, eager to have Castiel inside him as long as he possibly could. As Castiel’s body began to tremble, Dean ran his hands up the back of those taut, shaking thighs and dug his fingernails in and down. Castiel let out a loud, deep moan as he quickly pulled his cock out of Dean’s mouth till just the head remained between those gorgeous pink lips. Without missing a beat, Dean grabbed the throbbing, wet shaft and began to pump it as he swirled his tongue around the head. Castiel gasped, his orgasm no longer able to be withheld. Dean opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue, just in time to catch the first pearly ropes of Castiel’s release. Dean held the cum in his mouth till it stopped, and then closed his mouth around the tip once more. Dean sucked and tongued the opening, getting all of Castiel in him that he could, before swallowing the mouthful. He couldn’t hide his excitement and pleasure, which was evident by the smile he looked up at Castiel with and the thick bulge in his jeans.

“You like making me cum, Dean?” It was both a question and an artfully masked playful accusation.

“Yes.” Dean replied, still tasting Castiel on his tongue and lips.

“Yes, what?” Castiel’s tone was more demanding now. Dean panicked, uncertain what the correct answer was. For the first time since he arrived, flashes of his past threatened to overtake his present. Then, it clicked like a puzzle Pier fitting into its perfect place. “Yes, Professor.”

“That’s right, Dean. I want you to remember how wrong this is.” Castiel stroked Dean’s cheek again, and though his words could be taken as a statement of disgust, Dean knew the thrill of doing something so wrong was only a small part of what had drawn them both together.

“Would you like to go to my room, Dean?”

“Yes, Professor.”

Dean followed his professor up the stairs and closed the door behind him.

 


End file.
